Addictive
by Pan
Chapter 4:
Fifteen minutes later, I was in the car. I couldn’t tell my wife the truth—I’d mixed my semen with a little bit of flour, so it wasn’t instantly recognizable—and so I’d told her that I’d go to the store and grab some more.
As I drove nowhere in particular, my head was spinning.
I wasn’t going mad, and neither was my daughter. It wasn’t an elaborate prank (or, if it was, Fiona had somehow managed to rope Julie into it as well)—somehow, for reasons I didn’t understand, my semen had some kind of addictive property.
Fiona had tasted just a tiny glob, and that was enough to keep her hassling me for hours and hours after. My wife had been given a much larger serving—mixed with flour, but that didn’t seem to have affected anything—and she’d been desperate enough to guilt me out of bed.
My mind was whirring along with a thousand and one questions.
What would happen if I gave them some more?
What would happen if I didn’t?
And my girls aren’t stupid—what would happen when they eventually worked out the truth?
I could have driven around hours, questions running through my brain, answers nowhere in sight. But after twenty minutes, my phone began to light up with messages from my wife.
“WHERE R U”
“SERIOUSLY WHERE R U”
“CALL ME”
“CALL NOW”
After the fourth text in two minutes, I pulled over and called my wife.
“Hey honey,” I said, trying to sound casual.
My wife’s was panting, as though she’d just run a marathon.
“Where the hell are you??” she asked. I considered lying, but before I could even formulate a response, she made me very glad that I didn’t. “I’m watching you on Find My Friends, and it looks like you’re just driving in circles.”
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. I am a man of many strengths—including, apparently, addictive semen—but thinking on my feet isn’t necessarily one of them. “I sort of zoned out for a bit. I’m on my way to the store now.”
“Okay,” Julie said, her suspicion obvious in her voice. “Just…”
Her tone softened, and I couldn’t help but smile at the phone.
“Hurry. Please?”
“I will, honey. I’ll be back soon.”
When I returned home fifteen minutes later, I had two things: a plan, and a small vial of semen.
It’s not necessarily a sensible idea to pull over to the side of the road and jerk off into a newly-purchased chemistry kit, but I was out of options. Nineteen years with my wife has taught me that when she wants something, standing in her way is a bad move.
I’ve never measured my output before (it had truly never felt necessary), but it turns out with one orgasm, I can fill about four little vials. I’d hidden the other three in the car, and brought one in so I could see my wife’s reaction to the gift.
“What is this?” my wife asked, uncorking and downing the vial before I could get a chance to respond. Unlike the dish of the previous night, there was no flour mixed with my semen—it was pure Mark, all the way.
I didn’t answer, just watched as my wife’s eyes rolled back with glee.
“God that’s good,” she said with a sigh.
“Plenty more where that came from,” I said casually.
When I’d entered the house, Julie’s face had a slightly manic look to it—at the news that the supply wasn’t limited, I saw her entire body relax, and a look of serenity appeared on her face.
“That’s great,” she said, and—to my great surprise—didn’t ask any follow-up questions. Instead, she just sat back in the couch, and smiled at me.
“Want to watch a film?”
“I’d love to,” I said, and we held hands as we watched the latest Netflix original.
As the end credits rolled, I glanced over to notice that my wife was asleep. I took the opportunity to sneak back into the car to collect the rest of the vials.
Returning to the house, I was surprised to find my daughter sitting on my bed, waiting for me.
“Hello princess,” I said, trying to remain calm.
“Hello Daddy,” she responded, her voice slightly strained. I recognized the look in her eyes—it was an intense, desperate need; I’d seen it in her mother’s eyes earlier that day.
I’m no scientist, but it seemed to me that Fiona’s smaller dose had reduced the effects of my seed, or at least slowed them down.
“Where have you been?” I asked casually. She smiled at me.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, running one hand down her body. For the first time, I noticed what my baby girl was wearing—a dark blue pleated skirt, and a white crop top. The skirt was shorter than I’d ever seen her in, and it was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the shirt—something that I’d never, ever thought I’d notice about my daughter.
“Mmm?”
“I’ve been thinking,” she continued, standing up and slinking towards me, “that the ‘hand cream’ had a really familiar texture.”
“What hand cream?” I asked, but Fiona wasn’t buying it. She just smiled at me, and placed one hand on my chest.
“You know I’m not a virgin, don’t you?”
My eyebrows shot up.
“No,” I answered, completely honestly. I mean, I was aware that my daughter was attractive, and she’d had boyfriends, and that this generation…but no, I truly hadn’t been aware that Fiona was sexually active.
“Really?” she pouted, and my torso stiffened as her hand began to move down. “You thought your daughter was a good, innocent girl, who had never…”
I coughed, loudly.
Fiona stood on the tips of her toes, and moved her mouth to my ear.
“I’ve sucked a lot of cocks,” she whispered, and I wanted to push her away in disgust. That was not something I wanted to know about my daughter.
“Fiona!”
“I’ve sucked a lot of cocks,” she repeated softly. Her hand paused on my belt buckle. “And I know what semen tastes like, Daddy…”
“Fiona,” I said firmly.
Her hand began to unbuckle my belt.
“Fiona!”
Grabbing her small hands in mine, I moved them away from my pants, and held them above her head. To my horror, this seemed to excite her—she bit her lip, and stared at me with her big, blue eyes.
“I want more,” she gasped. “Please, Daddy…I just want more. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I want you to go to your room,” I said sternly. “No, don’t interrupt—I want you to go to your room, get a good night’s sleep, and…stop thinking about it. That’s an order!”
To my shock, a fiery look came into her eyes at my last few words. There was a brief pause, and I genuinely wondered if she was going to obey.
“Mark?”
I released my daughter’s arms, and spun around in shock. Julie was sleepily staring at us, a look of confusion on her face.
Even if she hadn’t heard any of the conversation, Fiona’s outfit, me restraining her—there was plenty to be suspicious of.
“Julie,” I said. “I can explain…”
“It’s okay,” she said softly, her face breaking into a smile. “Fiona, isn’t it time for bed?”
“Yes, mother,” our rebellious daughter uncharacteristically replied. “Good night, Daddy.”
“G’night, hon.”
Julie hugged me, and rested her head against my chest.
“Today was a good day,” she said, sounding calm and happy.
“I’m glad,” I said, not quite sure how I’d managed to get out of that one. “You ready for bed?”
“I am,” she answered, smiling up at me. “Before I go to sleep—any more of that stuff? I could really use some.”
“Of course,” I replied. “I’ve got some right here.”
As I opened up another of the vials, Julie’s nostrils flared. Her eyes widened as she gulped it down, a look of satisfaction spreading over her face when she was done.
My route to the kitchen (to wash out the vial) took me past my daughter’s room. As I passed her bedroom door, I couldn’t help but hear a series of very faint moans. I paused, instinctively, and could clearly hear my daughter’s voice through the wall.
“Oh, Daddy. Yes! Oh Daddy, yes. Yes, please. Oh, Daddy…”